


Dangling Conversation

by acciosalmon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciosalmon/pseuds/acciosalmon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deception is easy, and men are particularly vulnerable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dangling Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Another drabble written for the HP Welcome Home Ficathon on LJ. Based on the prompt: _[The pretty little mudblood.](http://kolms.livejournal.com/19212.html?thread=1911564#t1911564)_ Enjoy! ♡

**. . .**

Deception is easy, and men are particularly vulnerable.

They don't seem very different from one another, men. Especially not at Slughorn's party, where the sleazy junior politician isn't all that different from the Ravenclaw chatting her up.

The similarities are easy enough to spot whenever she mentions _it_. That God awful _thing_ nobody wants to talk about or hear about or think about.

They'd rather talk about themselves, show off, _impress_ her as if she cares about their important friends or their job offers.

She'd rather discuss far more important matters.

_Did you know that the murder-rate of Muggle-borns—especially Muggle-born women—rose over the summer?_

And she loves the surprise, blossoming into their expressions when her lips bear politics instead of mindless chit chat about the finger foods or favorite Quidditch teams.

_I plan to become involved in Muggle-born activism after Hogwarts. For personal reasons, you see. I reckon that it's my calling right now, rather than becoming a Healer._

Their lips curl—stiff, tight—more of a sour grimace than a solemn smile. Eyes flash, crinkling at the outer corners and shining with thinly veiled skepticism underneath feigned curiosity. And their expressions stay like this, frozen as their heads slowly nod. They're hearing, but they're not listening.

_The Ministry's slow response to these attacks..it's embarrassing, don't you think? I've written letters, several._

They try to change the subject because no one wants to talk about the dark and the grim, especially not from a girl so nice to look at.

Nasty business, that. Waste of time.

It's hard, being passionate about that pesky little thing called reality. It's like a foul quirk, a flaw in the fucking plan of casual cleavage ogling and shallow schmoozing.

_Not—not yet. I'm sure someone will reply soon, though._

It's over soon enough. They find a distraction—an old colleague, another beautiful woman, a sudden need to refill their wine glass—and they're gone; dodged the bullet disguised in red lipstick and tits.

It used to hurt, the obvious disappointment between sweeps of roaming eyes.

But now—in some awful, nauseating sort of way—it's almost _fun_.

A litmus test. Who sees her as more than just a pretty little Mudblood?

_Men._ They get such _poor_ marks.  



End file.
